


Prove It

by Delirious21



Category: MTMTE - Fandom, The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Knotting, M/M, Oral, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, angsty Tailgate, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 06:36:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7673830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delirious21/pseuds/Delirious21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tailgate fell back into the dumps of his depression, and Cyclonus was the one obliviously dragging him down. Now it's time for payback, and a single drink from Swerve is just the push Tailgate needed. But when one simple intention evolves, truth is uncovered and something bigger forms. All from one lousy night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Tailgate wasn't sure what had gotten into him. Maybe it was the past catching up to him. Maybe it was this little label on his arm. Maybe it was the fact that barely a single joor ago he had faced death. And it was the smallest, dumbest thing, which didn't make him feel any better that Cyclonus needed to shove him out of the way and to safety. Again. 

Other times he had been grateful, even overjoyed, that Cyclonus cared enough to save his sorry metal hide. But this... No. 

He shook his helm as he marched towards Swerve's. All it had taken were two lumbering idiots brawling in the middle of the hall, of course blocking the entrance to Tailgate's habsuite. He had tried to inch around them, not yet irritated enough to tell them to move, but his attempts failed every time. He was just about to yell at the two-he couldn't remember their blasted names for the life of him- when the larger, a dark green mech, slammed into the other and crashed to the floor. Tailgate had braced himself for the impact once he realized it was too late to get out of the way in time. 

A purple blur crashed into him. They slid across the hall, their plating scraping against the floor and emitting the worst, most audial splitting screech. Tailgate let out a grunt when he bumped into armor. He glanced up to find Cyclonus hovering over him, optics squinted as he inspected the smaller mech for injuries. But he couldn't see how bruised Tailgate's pride had become. He never would, it seemed. 

The minibot shoved at the ex-Decepticon's chassis and rolled from under him, standing indignantly. Cyclonus silently stood and watched him stomp off, walking faster when the fighting mechs stopped to call out and taunt him. 

"Poor li'l sparklin' almost get squished? Better crawl back to you-" They cut it short, fearing for their lives when Cyclonus shot them a glare sharper than most blades. 

The second Tailgate rounded a corner, he gave up the act and let his shoulders slump hopelessly. He didn't care that his pedes dragged along the floor, leaving marks that Ultra Magnus would kill him for later. It was late. That's why he had been heading back to his suite in the first place; he'd finished his shift working on the upper deck and had been looking forward to some well deserved rest. But no. Those idiots had to be in the way and Cyclonus just had to be around to save him. 

Perhaps it would have been better if he just got squished flat. It would have saved at least a sliver of his pride that way. 

Swerve's wasn't so busy; all the better. A good strong drink and some silence was all Tailgate needed to forget the ache of his pride. It seemed that the rush crowd was leaving in search of their berths. A bubbling group passed him at the door, no one bothering to acknowledge Tailgate's presence. Ten even forgot to say hello. He clambered up to sit at an empty table. A quick glance was all he needed to see that the only Bots left were the oldies, the drunks, and a passed out Sunstreaker sprawled on the floor by the bar. 

One mech, optics glitching static, was busy stumbling his way out of the bar when he tripped and toppled over Tailgate and knocked his whole table over. Tailgate grunted when the much heavier, mostly white frame landed on top of him.

"Get off of me!" he grumbled.

The mech lifted himself on shaky arms. His optics flit over Tailgate and he chuckled, hiccuping when he spoke through a rebooted vocalizer. "Oh. It's just you; the wa"-hiccup-"ste disposal joke!" His vocals let out a click and he suddenly snarled, faceplates twisting into a nasty, Decepticon worthy expression, "Nobody needs you; do yourself a favor and get off at the next stop, fragger."

The mech pushed up and 'accidentally' kicked Tailgate's side when he 'tripped' over the fallen chair. Tailgate winced and closed his optics, allowing himself to lay on the floor for a bit longer. 

"I...I am just a joke," he whispered.

He heard a shout near the entrance, but didn't turn to watch Ten forcefully escort the other mech out, kicking him as payback for poor Tailgate. The idea that he had been noticed, and in turn defended, flew high over Tailgate's processor. He pulled himself back up and moved to another vacant table that wasn't knocked over.

The lighting was dim, but any blind retard could tell that he needed something powerful tonight. Swerve, being the ever prompt bartender, sauntered over to Tailgate's pathetic pity party and slid a bubbly orange glass right into his waiting servo. 

"This one's on the house, buddy." 

Tailgate blamed the late hour for leaving Swerve so unlike his chatty self, but then again, it could be because of anything. Except for almost being crushed; Swerve was too loud to go unnoticed. Whatever the cause, Tailgate groggily exposed his intake and tilted back the glass, not minding the burn of the liquid as it went down. Any energy he had that hadn't fallen into the hole his depression created went towards chugging down his 'pain eraser'. Two more sips and every one of his untouched lines was buzzing with heat. 

And yet, the pain remained. The dull stabbing in his spark that had replaced the gaping hole. Each thought drove the knives deeper it seemed. 'Nobody cares any more.'

'I was built for waste disposal, but maybe I am the waste.'

'Why can't anyone see me?!'

'I'm a Bot too!'

Cyclonus knew he'd find Tailgate here. Where else did he have to go? And there he was, slouched over a table and downing a drink that looked too potent to be legal, his visor hazy and his movements sloppy. Cyclonus continued to scowl at the smaller mech as he pulled out a chair next to him. The mini's visor flashed in anger when he focused in on the purple mech. 

He slurred, "I coulda protected myself!" 

Cyclonus watched silently as the other downed the last orange droplets of his drink and turned on him, helm tilted to the side obscenely far. He stared at Cyclonus for a couple of moments before he shifted in his seat, leaning closer to those mysterious red optics. Heat blossomed in Tailgate's array as his spark began to thrum harder, as if longing for the purple mech's touch. His processor was foggy and distracted, but clear enough to put action to his feelings. 

He wriggled closer to Cyclonus, whispering, "I bet you'd fill me up so far I'd look sparked." 

Cyclonus was surprised more by how clear Tailgate's words were spoken than the words themselves. Nonetheless, he remained stock still as the smaller mech continued his 'flirting'. He crawled into his lap and began trailing his hands clumsily along dark plating. Cyclonus stared down at Tailgate, lips pressed into a thin, unforgiving line that even drunk Tailgate couldn't ignore. 

Said mech paused in his ministrations and pouted, "What's wrong?" 

He leaned forward to chafe his chest plating against Cyclonus's abdomen. "I thought you wanted to see how many times you could make me scream." His voice was hot and heavy and sent a direct jolt to Cyclonus's groin. 

"Tailgate..." 

Tailgate tossed his helm back and cried out as if he had just overloaded. "I love it when you say my name!" he panted. 

Cyclonus said, "This is no place for that, Tailgate. Let's get you to bed," and stood, picking up Tailgate and carrying him out of the bar. 

They passed Ten and Ratchet on their way out, both giving them suspicious looks before they disappeared down the hall and in the direction of a certain mech's habsuite. All the way, Tailgate wouldn't stop nudging his helm against Cyclonus's; the best kiss he could manage. 

The mech carrying him lowered Tailgate so that he could unlock the door. As soon as it was open, he rushed to the berth and climbed on top, kneeling and waiting eagerly for his soon-to-be partner to join him. 

Cyclonus closed the door behind him and paused. He felt the urge to back out and leave, his tanks churning at the idea of taking advantage of the intoxicated Tailgate who wriggled impatiently.

"We won't have much fun if you just stand there all night," Tailgate whined eventually. When the purple mech still did not move, he huffed and jumped from the berth, marching right over to him. 

Before Tailgate could even touch him, Cyclonus knelt and grabbed both of his little shoulders. "Tailgate..."

"What is it now?" He reached for plating just out of reach.

"You're drunk."

Visor flashed defiantly. "Am not!"

Cyclonus stared, his grip unyielding. "Prove it. Activate your F.I.M Chip."

"My Fuel Intake Moderator?" A moment after, Tailgate huffed, his visor clearing and the tension of his body fading as his pain returned. "Why'd you make me do that?" he asked quietly. 

The larger mech pointed to the berth. "Sit down."

He rested on the edge of the berth, staring down at his pedes. Cyclonus sat next to him and they stayed like that until Tailgate spoke.

"Nobody cares that I exist. I'm just a joke."

"And I am a past Decepticon."

Tailgate glanced up. "Right. Every Bot hates us both... Why couldn't you just frag me while I was drunk?" he groaned, dragging a servo down his face.

"You do not have to be drunk to rid yourself of pain." He stared down at Tailgate, servos resting open on his thighs.

He glanced up. "Guess not." Though his limbs felt weighed down by the ache of his existence, he climbed into Cyclonus's lap and numbly allowed his digits to travel purple plating. 

"Tailgate."

He paused, waiting for Cyclonus to continue.

The mech's gaze was searing. "I will not interface. Prove that you want this-me-and I will."

Tailgate slumped against Cyclonus's chassis, too tired to do much more. "There's a datapad between the berth and the wall. That's your proof."

Cyclonus extended his arm and yanked the pad free. He handed it to Tailgate who booted it up and entered a passcode. He shifted in Cyclonus's lap so that they could both see the screen when it lit up with a video. There they were, the two of them, reflected on the screen, walking away from the camera. Cyclonus could hear Tailgate telling him about something that Rodimus had said and easily placed the memory.

Static flashed on the screen before the next clip began. Now they sat in Swerve's with Rung, Chromedome, Skids, and Ratchet. The camera zoomed in on Tailgate when he laughed at something Skids had retorted to Ratchet. He leaned as he laughed and his arm grazed Cyclonus's. 

A series of short clips formed, all either front or back views of Cyclonus and Tailgate sitting or standing together at one of Rodimus's many speeches. And then a montage of Cyclonus singing to end it.

Tailgate yawned, "How's that for proof?" 

"Convincing."

Minutes passed and Tailgate's helm lulled back and his body went slack as recharge overtook him at last. Cyclonus could not put a name to the gentle feeling that settled over his spark. He could set there forever, waiting for Tailgate to wake, and he would if he believed that that was what Tailgate needed. 

Instead, he carefully took the datapad from his loose servos and typed a brief message. He set the pad down on the berth next to where he lay Tailgate and left as silently as he could.

***

Tailgate yawned, optics cycling online and HUD sending him a ping to refuel. He tapped his chin in wonder. He had finished work with a full tank, how could he be running low already? He stretched and tried to find and explanation for the pounding throb in his processor when he spotted the data pad. 

 

You were drunk. We did not interface. Come to my habsuite after your shift.  
-C


	2. Smut Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If a drunk frag wasn't what Cyclonus wanted, Tailgate decided to give him what he really wanted.

His memory bank having been restored from the night before, Tailgate couldn't help but be anxious about this. He'd shown Cyclonus something so precious, but he wasn't even sure that the ex Con understood, and now he paced before his habsuite, debating his actions. What would happen if he just left? Ignored the fact that anything had happened and left?

No. Tailgate shook his helm and rapped his fist against the door a bit harder than necessary. He was here because this was meant to happen. He couldn't run from that anymore.

The door opened and scarlet optics cycled down on him. Cyclonus stepped aside and motioned for Tailgate to enter. He closed the door behind him and folded his arms across his chassis. 

Tailgate glanced around the bland room. Not much of a surprise there.

"I'm here...now what?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder at Cyclonus.

The larger mech stared silently at him for a minute too long. "How did you compile the footage on your datapad?"

Tailgate walked over to the window on the far end of the room. He sat on the sill and watched the dark world swirl around the ship. "I paid Rewind for them."

A warm frame stood next to him. 

"Do you remember any of them?" Tailgate muttered mostly to himself. 

Cyclonus answered evenly, "Every one."

Tailgate looked up to meet his gaze, trying to decipher whether or not he was lying. But who was he kidding, this was Cyclonus; he never lied. At least, he didn't think so. "What...what did you think?"

Cyclonus watched a far away meteor barrel through space. "Your proof was compelling."

Tailgate's spark thrummed happily. Cyclonus accepted him! In the excitement of the moment, he swiveled on the window sill, spread his legs, and reached for Cyclonus's servo. He uncrossed his arms and allowed Tailgate to pull him closer until he was situated between his legs.

When Cyclonus still did not move, Tailgate pulled his servo up and nuzzled against it. "You can touch me. I won't break." He smiled behind his mask.

"I will not harm you," Cyclonus said as he let his free servo wander blue and white plating carefully. 

His claws dipped into seams and drew little gasps from Tailgate. The smaller mech's cooling fans cycled on and he sighed at the heat still pooling around his array. Cyclonus's digits traced lower and lower until they were drawing circles just above his spike housing. Tailgate reached down a servo to tease around Cyclonus's hips, digits trailing along the edge of his groin, searching for the manual lock. 

Cyclonus groaned and pressed forward, mouth latching onto an exposed energon line on Tailgate's neck. Tailgate moaned and bucked his hips, grinding his searing hot plating against Cyclonus's. The friction left them both aching for more.

Cyclonus knelt, his helm perfect level to Tailgate's array. He used both servos to still Tailgate who gasped when a glossa ran over his heated plating. 

"Open," Cyclonus said. Instantly, plating folded away and a white and light blue spike jut proudly in the air, bumping against the side of Cyclonus's helm. The transfluid that had been building up in Tailgate's valve slipped out and dripped to the floor, leaving him trembling. 

Eagerly, Cyclonus tasted the pink juices that his smaller partner's valve had to offer. Tailgate shuddered when the glossa delved deeper, pushing past the swollen folds of his biolight accented valve and ghosting over the closest set of nodes. The glossa wriggled further and Cyclonus's face was flush against his valve, the ridge of his nose rubbing against his pulsing exterior node. 

When the long thick glossa raked along the ceiling of his valve, Tailgate cried out, "Ah, y-yes! C-cy!"

Cyclonus paused to swirl Tailgate's transfluid around in his intake, savoring the sweet tang of it. Tailgate whined when the glossa left his valve but was quickly quieted by Cylonus pressing feathery kisses to his spike. His hips bucked into the feeling but giant white servos made the movement futile. 

"Cyclo-!" Tailgate groaned, quickly cut off when Cyclonus suckled on the tip of his spike, glossa swirling around the tip and flitting over the slit on the top. 

Glossy white thighs twitching, Tailgate clutched tight to Cyclonus's one servo while reached for purchase with the other and found hold of a horn. Cyclonus's spike twitched against its casing and he groaned around Tailgate's spike, the vibrations passing right into the other mech.

Tailgate noticed even in his state of euphoria and began to expertly slide his servo along the horn's curved underbelly, the result so perfect he didn't want it to stop even as pleasure threatened to overflow his systems. Cyclonus bobbed his helm with a wild fervor, glossa twisting around the ridges and tickling the shaft. Tailgate let out a delicious moan every time that his spike was swallowed and rubbed against the gravely surface of the intake of his partner. 

Pulling off with a loud pop, Cyclonus looked up and growled, "Overload for me, Tailgate."

The sound of his name spoken in that husky voice alone was enough to send Tailgate over the edge. He cried out and arched away from the window, yanking on Cyclonus's horn as he latched onto Tailgate's spike and swallowed every bit of transfluid that gushed out. When Cyclonus detached from Tailgate's spike, a glob of transfluid leaked free and dribbled down his chin. Tailgate shivered at the site, his spike quickly pressurizing again. 

His valve clamped down on air, copious amounts of transfluid gushing down his thighs and leaving sticky warm streaks on the white plating. 

Cyclonus stood back up and leaned over to plant another heavy kiss to Tailgate's mouth plate. The smaller mech took the opportunity to reach down with one servo (still clutching Cyclonus's in one) and slid his blunt fingers along the edge of his groin, longing to see Cyclonus's spike for the first time. Cyclonus kept his forehelm pressed against Tailgate's when, with a rather loud 'snick', his plating retracted, exposing his stiff, purple ridged spike and dark valve. True to the rest of his form, his spike was fairly long and with a width to make Tailgate's valve flutter just at the sight. 

Cyclonus planted another kiss atop Tailgate's helm before pulling back and shifting so that his spike rested on the mini's abdomen, rubbing their spikes together with every minute motion. They moaned in unison and Tailgate eagerly grasped the spike with his free servo and began to lavish it as best as he could, dragging his digits along every flared ridge and causing the spike in his care to twitch wildly with its growing charge. A bead of pearly transfluid seeped from Cyclonus's spike and he reached down with the intent of servicing Tailgate's spike. The mini released Cyclonus's spike to shove away his servo.

"It's your turn, Cy, not mine."

Cyclonus grunted in response and moaned huskily when Tailgate's returned servo teased a digit into the slit of his pulsing head. His engine revved and Tailgate heard and revved his tiny engine, allowing one servo to travel away from Cyclonus's spike and downwards until his digits were slipping through the mostly dry folds of a valve. His throat caught when a digit slipped past the folds and teased his untouched valve, seeking out the nearest nodes and curling around them. Tailgate bent to smear Cyclonus's transfluid on his faceplates and eased a second digit into his clenching valve. Charge crackled on Tailgate's digits, betraying Cyclonus's steely demeanor. 

Cyclonus felt the pressure building rapidly and his hips lurched, thrusting his spike through the smaller mech's grip. Tailgate twisted his servo around Cyclonus's spike and squeezed the base, keeping him from overloading just a few more seconds.

He whispered, "Do you...do you love me?" 

The uncertainty in his voice pushed aside Cyclonus's pleasure and he tightened his grip on Tailgate's servo, leaning closer again to kiss the crest of his chassis right above his spark. 

"Yes. I will never allow you to be forgotten," he whispered back, optics filled with nothing but the truth of his words.

Tailgate's visor flashed happily and he released Cyclonus's spike. The sudden flood of pleasure forced a loud groan from between clenched dentae as his hips jerked into the overload and he spurt transfluid all over Tailgate's chassis. 

Panting and fans running on high, neither mech was spent quite just yet. Cyclonus carefully positioned Tailgate's legs over his shoulders and cupped his aft to keep him steady atop the windowsill. The stars seemed to twinkle brighter now and he turned Tailgate's helm so that he could see.

Tailgate sighed, "It's so pretty."

Cyclonus kissed his face mask and said, "I have a view much more beautiful."

Tailgate giggled and he turned back to him. "You're the best partner I could ask for, Cyclonus." 

Cyclonus's lip plating twitched into a fleeting smile before he hid it by pressing needy kisses to Tailgate's spike and trailing up his body and to his faceplates once more. He pecked the plating then shifted to nibble on the energon lines in his neck. Tailgate gasped but was quickly calmed when Cyclonus's glossa lapped at the small marks his dentae had left. 

Cyclonus was wary of using his claws to stretch Tailgate, so he took the smaller mech's servo and lead it to his own valve. Confusion darted across his visor, but he didn't protest when Cyclonus guided one of his blunt digits into his valve, then a second. Tailgate was used to his own digits stuffing his valve, but he didn't expect for Cylonus to use all of his digits and bury them knuckle deep. He circled his hips, pressing down further on his digits until Cyclonus, satisfied, pulled them free.

The ex-Decepticon brought Tailgate's servo to his intake and wormed his glossa around each digit, cleaning every drop of transfluid from his knuckles and plating.

Tailgate writhed impatiently, his valve doing the same. Cyclonus shushed him and took a hold of his own spike to easily line himself up with Tailgate's fluttering valve. The mass amounts of lubricant comforted Cyclonus. Nonetheless, the tip of his spike pushed aside the folds of Tailgate's valve at an agonizingly slow pace. Cyclonus focused intently on Tailgate's face, watching for any sign that he was in pain. Cautiously, he passed the rim of his valve and froze to reevaluate. Tailgate groaned, the calipers of his valve struggling to adjust to just the tip of the large intrusion. He arched when Cyclonus gently rubbed his exterior node and eased in a bit farther. 

Cyclonus stopped again, barely half deep in Tailgate. "Are you alright?" he asked, concerned.

Tailgate nodded shakily and when he tried to speak all that came out were gasps and moans. Cyclonus frowned but inched forward. His spike was being clamped down on from every direction, rubbing against valve walls that scraped his most sensitive parts. Tailgate moaned so loud he nearly shouted, encouraging Cyclonus to continue moving. Finally he hilted himself in Tailgate's spasming valve. He stayed motionless, allowing Tailgate to adjust. Tailgate stared up at Cyclonus. Still and hilted, he filled him completely, the stretch burning but the pleasure of nearly ever set of nodes being pressed against overpowering the sting.

"M-move!" Tailgate whined.

Cyclonus huffed and slowly backed out of the valve, leaving them both groaning at the friction. Once only the tip of his bulbous spike remained inside, Cyclonus surged forward a bit faster than before till his shaft was completely enveloped in the wet, vice like heat of Tailgate's valve. Tailgate twisted his hips in small circles as Cyclonus thrust back in, forcing more of his spike inside. Cyclonus lifted the mini's hips and suddenly slammed into him, crashing against his ceiling node and wrenching a static laced moan from him. Cyclonus never stayed in one spot. He struck every cluster node possible and his pace quickly sped up, driving Tailgate into the windowsill. One giant servo kneaded Tailgate's aft and teased his back port. Tailgate keened and wrapped his legs around Cyclonus's hips, thrusting to meet him half way. 

Cyclonus slowed his thrusts enough to tease two digits in next to his spike. Tailgate gasped at the extra stretch and bucked into them when they furled around the nodes closest to his entrance. "Y-yes!" He cried out when Cyclonus began thrusting faster again, moaning when his claws scraped along his spike. 

Pleasure coiled in the pit of Cylonus's tanks and he removed his digits as his movements became sporadic, striking Tailgate's valve from different angles as he lurched towards overload. Lubricant splattered their thighs but Cyclonus continued. Tailgate moaned beautifully and arched his back, pedes scraping for footing as Cyclonus quickened his pace and drove into him with so much force, white flashed in his optics.

And then he stopped, freezing half way through another powerful thrust. Tailgate let out a frustrated sigh and glared up at Cyclonus. In one swift motion, Cyclonus picked Tailgate up, slid free, and turned so that he was sitting on the windowsill instead. He pulled Tailgate into his lap and held him just above the head of his spike.

He growled through his pleasure, voice low yet still strong, "I want you to watch the stars as you overload for me."

Tailgate nodded and stared over Cyclonus's shoulder at the dazzling stars. Cyclonus dropped Tailgate onto his spike. The mini cried out in ecstasy when Cyclonus lifted him and thrust up, lowering him again and doing this five times before stiffening and slamming into Tailgate once more. Tailgate screamed wildly when Cyclonus's massive spike penetrated his gestation chamber.

"Nng, Tailgate...!" Cyclonus roared with his overload, spike swelling and white hot transfluid gushing into Tailgate's chamber.

"C-Cyclonus!!! Oh P-primus!" Tailgate's valve clamped down and milked Cyclonus of his transfluid before spasming in its own overload. Cyclonus continued to thrust into him sporadically, pushing further into his gestation chamber, and grabbed his twitching spike, pumping it to get another scream from him.

Tailgate practically melted into Cyclonus once a bit of the excess charge had cleared from his processor. Cyclonus was still buried deep inside of him, and both of them were covered in sticky fluids. Tailgate tried to pull off of the spike, but Cyclonus pressed a servo against his chassis to keep him still.

He moaned, pressing his forehelm against Tailgate's. "Don't." The spike inside of him expanded and he whimpered slightly when it stretched his already overstuffed valve even more. It kept growing and Tailgate could see the plating of his abdomen rise. "We are knotted," Cyclonus finished. 

Tailgate purred and rocked his hips, eliciting a sharp gasp from Cyclonus whose hips snapped forward and forced his knot deeper. Tailgate moaned at the throbbing girth settled in his valve. 

"Why-ah-why didn't you tell me earlier?" he asked quietly.

Cyclonus cupped the side of his helm, "Shhh. I should have, I am sorry." To soften the ache he knew his partner was feeling, he ghosted his palm over Tailgate's softened spike and watched it twitch to life. 

"N-no, this is fan-fantastic!"

"It is not over yet," Cyclonus whispered.

"Wha- Ah!" Tailgate arched against him when he thrust one last time, his spike releasing every drop of transfluid in its reserves. Tailgate cried out as his chamber was filled to the max, his stomach plating inflating so far he looked sparked already. Cyclonus moaned huskily as Tailgate's valve crackled with renewed charge and clamped down on him, milking him empty.

Tailgate writhed with his third overload and ground down harder on the spike filling him. Cyclonus knowingly reached down and wrapped a servo around the smaller mech's spike. He squeezed and planted a kiss on Tailgate's expanded middle. "You are doing well, Tailgate," he groaned. His knot slowly began to deflate and as it did, more and more transfluid seeped from Tailgate's valve, leaking out around Cyclonus's spike.

Tailgate cried out when Cyclonus lifted him off of his now flaccid spike and a flood of transfluid spilled from his valve, soaking both of their laps and leaving his valve raw and oversensitive. He nuzzled his helm against Cyclonus's chassis and whispered, exhausted, "I love you, Cyclonus."

"And I love you, Tailgate."


End file.
